THE MULLINS PREAMBLE

"A Rudderless Child"

You may have noticed in the past, had you visited this sight, a stranger wander in, like a drunk into a bar - loud, rude, and often obliterating the conversation. 
I am obligated to provide some warning, in the form of this explanation...just so you’re not put-off by Him. You will be, but be assured, you'll not be the first. You may be perplexed, puzzled, or repulsed, but you won't be the first. He may grow on you intellectually, to a degree, or feel like 'a growth' in your cranium when he is done - he has that effect with me:

He will either storm through the doors with a blizzard at his back, or has been sitting, brooding in a  dark corner in the back of the room, observing your labors, while carrying on his life’s incoherent, grunting, running dialogue, oblivious of the occupants, or the reality of the space they shared , be it physical, or mystical, or just plain neurosis. 

Skunk Mullins is my lifelong mental camper, couch surfer, party crasher, mindmate and muse usurper, who refuses to go home, because he's found it, and its me. So, what am I to do? He is often frustrated, angry, and always mad, but I can’t turn him away because I’d wonder where he’d gone to vent, and to whom, and would they understand? He's been rejected most his life...so he might pick a fight when drunk, and the odds of both, are as predictably high as he will also be.
So if you should bump into the Skunk on a visit to this site, I want you to be aware of things, should you sense things aren’t quite right. It’s Skunk, the twisted philosopher, often in rant, I’d stop him if I could, but as I warned you, I just can’t.

SKUNK:

In a constant battle of give-and-take, it seems I'm only aware when I'm asleep, and Dreaming when I’m awake.

It’s the things one passes by, that eventually catch up with you. The job you should have taken, the girl you should have dated…especially the ones that 'offered'. But they scared you shitless instead. That’s an offer you should have probably taken, but you ran like the ‘piss-ant’ you are.  

'But she was getting fucking married. I shook his hand firmly and looked him straight in the eye. How was I supposed to fuck his fiancé /wife at the same time?  I should have. You never know. She was either a tramp, a savior…or neither. Just another screw?...too bad you never knew.'

You think anyone regrets not fucking me? Hahaha… That ship sailed. Look at me! See what happens? After awhile you lose your grip, become adrift, like a rudderless child…motherless boat…murderous shit…fuckin'clueless dolt. Do I have a reason? No. A life is not something you should drift through, but it’s what we do….some of us do, but don’t ask how many, or who, because I haven’t a clue. Rudderless boats don’t dock or steer they just drift on without a crew, just the one lonely captain, in charge of exactly who?  

Permission to come aboard? Permission refused. 

That train left the station on time… you missed it by miles…to places you’ll never see. Mixing metaphors, missing semaphores...sex with casual whores…things I’ve never been trained to use. I can’t read Life for shit, which is why I’m still living with you. Thanks for having me.

V

IN THE TUNNEL - (rev1)

I first entered the tunnel many years ago, many more than ten, or even twenty….many more. Yet when I stop to think, when I can think through the drink and drugs, illegal and prescribed, I think there has always been a tunnel, in fact I know there has. Right through the urethra, vagina, womb, u-turn and out the shaft into the void, you plop. Then what? You didn’t get asked. You don’t even know what the fuck you are, but the rest is up to you. But, then… not quite, because there are things to be done, results to be measured, and expectations to be met. The best chance you got is that the expectations are low and they let you be, and if so, you’ll probably meet your mark, or your maker. Either way, not a bad undertaking compared to the other end, where ‘expectations met’ means the heavier the load, the more ‘the heavy lifting’ is expected. 


Oh, sure, at first that sounds just right, like the light from above shone upon you, and made you visible, viable, and valuable. But all along, like everyone else, you are nothing more than 'Vulnerable'. 

No one is impenetrable. No one is imperial. 

Your life is spent in tunnels. Your life is Channeled ... you find yourself blindly  baring more burden…driven, by driving someone else’s highway, and carrying their freight 'in Priority' of yours. You get them where they want to go because it’s your job. 
(You break down?... they 'retool'. But then take solice, because, they travel the tunnel, too. 

In the end, no matter your up-keep and maintenance, your 'expectancy' still comes due...dutifully accounted, projected, and invested, by those disassociated with you. You’re not but a fraction of a digit of the least common denominator in the ledger. A pixelated- digit, displayed on the previous screen.

Turn the page,  or rip it out,  it’s over either way. 

Done everything right, full speed ahead, just not as fast as stupid, as more paint's been shed, and this tunnel seems tapered and dark, while NO EXIT signs shine in RED alert. Drive on.

And if it's a bright light I see, I'm aware what it is - the tunnel is over...run out on me. But, having seen it before, we see it anew. Off into the void...we just went....plop...

  So...you were asking, “Where do I see myself...?” 

V

THE BOY UNKNOWN

Raspberries, I don’t care for. They’re prickly. They are fragile little pods, all delicate and thorny! Who needs prickly, thorny, fragile, mushy, seedy, moldy raspberries? 

They make a fine preserve…

But fresh, they don’t keep!…not hereabouts, they don’t. Blackberries, are big and hardy…cherries, and…first-pick strawberries…short window for perfect berries… Wait too late, and you end up with strawberries so bad, a raspberry wouldn’t date it. For that matter, get to any berry too late, and it’s a waste… So? You were saying…?

(and yet there are jams...) 

What?

(ahem) I was suggesting a small, simple, fruit plate with le fromage.

Then, Pear will suffice. A sherry might be nice…you have something?

Most assuredly. Might I also suggest…? We have a small assortment of delicate wafers – angels’ wings - dusted with finely powdered Cuban-cane, held in-reserve, for our ‘special’ guests. I could have them prepare an assortment with perhaps, an espresso…perhaps a vanilla bean custard…with blackberries,was it ?

Again with the berries? Did your buyer go mad at the berry mart, Marcel? The season is waning and so are my tastes for ...you know...

We got bananas in just yesterday, directly from Guatamala. Very fresh! Ha! Ha!

Something humorous about the bananas, Marcel?

The snake!

Snake! Where Marcel?!

In the bananas! In the kitchen! Green, like the bananas! Seven feet long!

My god!

Python! 

Oh No! Any staff injured or…?

No-o-o.

Pietro?

No.

Sixto & Michel?

No.

‘The Bowery’ still intact?

Yes.

And your sudden sadness...?

The mop boy got caught in the alley. It awaited him while curled in a can, and attacked on the boy’s last nightly visit. He lifted the lid…it was quick…it was late. No one heard. I suspect if they had heard they wouldn’t know.

How so?

It's just...what, exactly, does 'that' sound like? A muffled scream as he squeams within the vipers squeeze? A whimper…? Could that be a cat…? Two AM?... in these lots? You expect gunfire not whispers.

Screams and shots. Yes, I see, if its not gunfire, it hardly matters. 

There are silent options, of course...

What do we know about the poor boy?

Not much. He’s small…hard worker…He came on the previous boat, just last month... in from Guatemala. His remains will return on the same boat tomorrow.

Oh, no, …and the snake?

Claro took a clever…it was too full to give a fight. We plan to hang the skin. What do you think?

Seven feet might look grand above the bar, over there…and the meat?

Ha! You are a rare one, Harry. We are taste-testing tomorrow afternoon. The boys are looking forward to it. Would you like to join us?

Yes. Yes, I would. As testament to the young man lost, I would be proud to eat the snake that ate him.

Exactamento. We are proud to prepare. 

They traveled a long way to meet such a tragic fate, and each misplaced in this miserable place. Pour yourself a brandy, Marcel…and take a seat, there’s no one here. Join me.

Merci.

Now, if I may be allowed the honor, I would like to propose a toast:

May you finally find your home. 

Little Boy - Unknown.

(clink)

              
    ... and, snake, I'm betting you taste heavenly.

Amen.

  

V

observer

pink flora -

V

FINAL REST

My investments, all that I had left to my name, I left unflushed in the filthy bowl of a highway rest-stop, right-near the state line. It was an emergency stop, one greasy burger too many, and nothing 'restful' about my gut or the situation.

You gotta watch the meth-heads, man, they lurk out there at night, and have learned they can sneak up and slice your throat before you know it...middle of nowhere. Back to the urinal, or stuck in stall...you're meat, gasping for air, as blood floods your pipes, watching them dance a mad jig in your red pool while howling like demonic dogs before disappearing, the big-bore roaring, trailing, fading down the road into the darkness of the vast and vaporous landscape.

By 3 AM. temp is down to 92 degrees. The sand devils twirl, up-and-frolicing, bowling tumbleweeds into piles along the railings of the highway corridor. In the distance proceeds the flash and whine of the red-light brigade from far-across the long, flat, floor.

Then someone places orange pylons and drapes festive yellow tape…they mop around you…as you lie festered with flies, while shrill bush-birds mock you even in the night, as they’d dive for your drive-thru fries, strewn about the vehicle, that old gold jalopy now being towed-off down the road...the coroner follows, not all that far behind, in no particular hurry, just another soul added to his load. 

V

THE NIGHTLY RECITAL

So go ahead, tell me your list.

My list? What list would that be?

THE List.

Seems there's a list for everything nowadays...your 'A list...'B list...'

Some more serious than most.... 
Give me your top five, or six
...up to you.

For what?

I'll let you ponder that. Want another? On me.

Why?

Just a drink.

Why the list?

Have the drink. Take the time you need to think.

About?...

The List.

The List? Just to be clear - are we talking, perhaps...'women and fucking'...?

That's a wonderful reverie, I am sure, but, I can't do anything about that.

I didn't ask you to.

Some things I can do, you understand, but  procurement is not one. No, this list is more permanent, and far less vague.

That statement alone is vague. What are you asking?

What is the ultimate finality?

Death...I....wait-a-second!  Are you shitting me? Are you asking for my HIT list?! 

We never discuss specifics. Just the names on paper. Past relations that served you wrong, fucked you up, or fucked you over. Details not necessary.

Who the hell are you? ...and, why are you trying to elicit my cooperation in ... Holy shit, Is this entrapment? Who are you?

I am a professional, once removed, twice discarded, living on borrowed time, and in need of a cause to keep me alive until that window slams shut. Thinkin' maybe between you and I, we can eek it out a little longer if I am driven. But even if that's not the case, maybe it'll serve you up some vindication before I depart.

By Killing people…!?

Shhh.  We were just discussing names on paper, nothing more.

You a cop? …or...a paid killer?

Not a cop...and no psycho... so no further specifics. I'm not a 'Bad Guy', either, if that helps. You'll get no more from me, for your own sake.

Why me? Why...random?

I have a skill. An art - something I deplore philosophically, yet enjoy in practice and with reason. Once the course has been set, I'm duty bound, it becomes a mission. Its a service I can provide, anonymous and complete.

Why me? Why not him or her?

Could have been, when the evening started, but I don't need to waste time pursuing a candidate and then conducting interviews. Me and you, we had a few, and I like you. From what you tell me, you've been fucked over...

I drink too much, and am a regretful drunk, way too willing to spill my guts. Just let me be to cry in my bourbon.

Have another. Get it out. Maybe I can reap you some revenge. I can't fix it in the past, they're all our own mistakes, but I can provide you some retribution, so take it, or leave it. 

Just like that?

Everyone has a list that could be acted upon, question is - do you want to instigate it?

Maybe I do, but for chrissakes, man, I can't take a life!

Please. Stop with specifics. Most can't, that's why I offer, 'a gift'. You might as well make the most of my skills while I am capable and have the time.

How much time is that?

Who knows? I've seen men in the ward, they can depreciate rapidly. I know it's coming and I know what it looks like. Agent orange - it's insidious. Once it hits, you don't know it - you are in 'shutdown'...confused, delusional, and rotting away. By then you're...up here, you're gone, and the rest is just dealing with pain while fading away. So, I'm going to hold on to life as long as I can, these last precious days...
You were lucky to be born at the right time, some weren't. Some don't deserve the luck they got. So, just give me the Goal.

By taking the lives of others?

The one's that deserve it? You bet. You ever find yourself thinking, if you got the shot, you could still step up to bat and hit big league pitching? Look up there, guy gets a hit on TV and you think 'I could do that'...Just one more time - one more hack at bat. But the Truth is, you'll never get the chance, and you couldn't hit it if you had to...just that one more swing of the bat...only to prove yourself mortal and unworthy .

Ha, ha! You just ‘made’ my number one.

Me? How so?

You just brought to mind my 'Number One'.

Bullshit. You know the list, everybody has their personal list…you recite it every night: cheating spouse, bitter mistress, asshole boss, CEO, some mid-management prick. A banker, maybe...a crooked advisor...a contractor, that screwed you, or maybe a car dealer? ... bureaucrats, or maybe a malicious cousin, or a schoolyard bully...a coach that crossed you, or a priest who fondled you....or worse...and there’s always the one that broke your heart and drove you to drink. There are a million reasons. By now you've thought about it and you surely know who is on it. A longer list than you anticipated, isn’t it?

I guess it is... I...

We can whittle it down. I’ll give you a full ‘nine innings’, how’s that? Nine is your number. Now let me deal with 'the how'.

Like you said, first off, it’s ‘The Bat’. One more swing of the bat...You get to take my cuts on the bastard, so don’t get cheated, and take some vicious hacks.

If you so decree. Who is he?

Prick VP. You'll be happy to know that he has that very bat in a box, framed and under glass, right there in his office - a keepsake from his glory days...just waits for you to inquire, so he can regale on himself, yet again, about his athletic exploits...asshole.

How'd he screw you?

He opted to axe my entire group in order to maximize his Annual bonus...said so himself. He boasted about his fucking bonus as he gave us the boot. We were the rubble he climbed over to get where he needed to go.

Was it a lot of money?

Probably six-figures, back then, and much more by now...

How many people he screw?

Eight. Nine, with me included.

Do the math. The group did not equate.

It goes beyond the math.

Of course it does.

Here, take this pen and a stack of those bar napkins. Now on each napkin you write a name. Block print, no cursive.

This is evidence.

Napkins? No. I’ll keep them right here - front pocket. If I get caught I piss my pants...its a bladder problem. If they care to look, they’ll find soggy ink blots. 

And when you’re done? No souvenirs?

Don’t insult me. When I'm done with each, I flush it, used or not...no trail. 

And how do I know it's done?

Oh, one fine morning you wake up to have your coffee and news and there he is...front page Section two, 'Exec Suffers Grand Slam!'

Hahaha, thats rich!

So was he, once, but it didn’t serve him well, and he wasn't aware he just 'bought the farm' and the bill just came due.

You can do that? I can trust you, when I don't even know you?

I'm highly competent. I say -Who are you? Have we met? Oh yeah, maybe we sat at a bar by chance, in some close proximity, but that was random. Why, I didn't even know his name... 
You see? - No links, no ties, no knowledge....all to your advantage. I  don't care to know your name.

Nor I, yours. 

You won't.

Are you sure?

Are you?

Hand me the pen.

Batter up!  Thank you, my friend.

V